


Flowers and Ink

by frerarcl



Series: Flowers and Ink [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance, Pencey Prep
Genre: M/M, Tattoo Artist!Frank, basically a meeting more than anything, florist!gerard, it's really short and simple and it's more like a drabble but it's fun and i like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 01:43:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6136972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frerarcl/pseuds/frerarcl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short drabble in which tattoo artist!Frank and florist!Gerard meet and are nice little idiots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers and Ink

**Author's Note:**

> so i saw a tumblr post like a year ago and started writing this and it was at the very bottom of my drafts so i finished up the last few sentences and decided to post it. enjoy!

  
To Gerard, the flower shop was not just a job or just a flower shop; it was a remnant of his grandmother, who'd owned the place as long as anyone could remember. She'd passed two years ago, but he kept the shop up in her honor. All things aside, he really did love working here at Elena's Botanic Boutique. It was cute, and it smelled like roses. Plus, cute plushies in the window were always fun. Always. What was less fun was that a few months ago, the vacant shop space next door had been bought, and about two weeks ago they opened: Dirty Tony's Tats N' Piercing Stop. Like people would pull off the side of the road to get their nipples pierced by some guy called Dirty Tony. As if. Gerard involuntarily scoffed at the thought as he set up for the day. For the past two weeks big, greasy guys had been going past the shop, and there was constantly loud music next door (which Gerard didn't really mind, but still, it was disrupting his work), and when they'd leave, they'd see him inside and scream 'A PANSY WORKIN' WITH PANSIES!' like it was original and then throw beer bottles at the door.   
  
Basically, Gerard was kinda sick of it.   
  
The one perk was that there was a guy (maybe a regular, maybe an employee, hopefully the former because if he was Dirty Tony, Gerard would throw himself off a bridge) that he saw going in quite a bit, and oh dear was he attractive, and not only was he attractive, he was _polite_. He was in _New Jersey_ and he was **_polite_**. Amazing. Well, he waved at Gerard, or nodded, or smiled, and once he even said hello while Gerard was cleaning the windows outside. Gee just about melted.   
  
So maybe he had a crush, but it didn't really matter. No way a guy who works for someone called Dirty Tony is gay, or even bi or pan, Gee thinks sulkily. He'd really like to talk to the guy (even if he wasn't gorgeous, he seems nice), but he's terrified of walking in there. And walking in there alone? Did he mean SUICIDE? Fuckin' terrifying. He realized he'd been wiping the same spot for the past five minutes, and it was now time to open. He sighed. Stupid useless crushes.  
  
"Yeah Gerard, fuckin' develop a crush on the cool punk who works in the next suite like an idiot, no way that could backfire," he muttered, flipping over the 'Sorry, We're CLOSED :(' sign to reveal the 'Hello, We're OPEN! :)' and walks back to his place, re-tying the knot in the back of his dusty old red apron and ruffling his hair, examining his reflection in the vaguely-mirrored counter-top. The white's working out well-- his hair hasn't been this short since he was a kid, but it suits him now. He smiles, a bit too self-satisfied not to turn on the radio. It's good, kind of alternative for a pop station, but since when did he mind? No one's gonna come in the shop for a while anyways. That's how he legitimizes his dancing behind the counter and lip-syncing to the plushies. The music's loud, loud enough for him not to notice the bell on the door ringing until he hears a small, somewhat nasal voice say 'excuse me.' He whips around (nearly falling and thwacking his head on the counter), trying to breathe and not really noticing who he's speaking to.  
  
"Uh, um, h-how may I help you?" he asks, trying really hard because he should be looking at the customer instead of looking down, panting, and clutching his chest, but he can't right now.  
  
"You okay, dude?" the customer asks.  
  
  
"You, uh, you scared me, sorry," Gerard responds.  
  
"Wait, why are you sorry? My fault, man, take your time," the customer assures, and Gerard can see heavily tattooed arms and hands raising. Gee nods and sits for a moment, collecting his wits. He looks up into smiling hazel-gold eyes and why, why does he have to be klutzy? In front of Tattoo Guy!? He brushes it off (well, shoves it to the back of his mind) and smiles at the guy.  
  
"How may I help you, sir?" he asks pleasantly.  
  
"Well, for one, don't fall down again. You fuckin' worried me. Uh, but I need a bouquet of roses. Eleven of them. Um, yellow white and red? I guess like... four white and red, three yellow? She doesn't like yellow much," the guy responds, consulting a small slip of paper from his pocket.  
  
"Oh, well, who's the lucky lady?" Gerard asks, turning to check his inventory list and trying not to sound dejected that the guy must be straight. He's not surprised: the hot ones always are, for him.  
  
"My mom. It's her birthday and I wanted to do something special, and she's always loved roses, so I thought, 'hey, Frank, look up what rose colors mean and do that!', and I did," the guy explains. Frank. His name is Frank, Gerard. Idiot. Well, at least his name isn't Dirty Tony. That would've been embarrassing.  
  
"Uh, when do you need them by? We don't have any yellow right now but I have a bush, they're just not quite ready. They will be in about three days, and I can do it then," Gerard suggests.  
  
"Her birthday's in three days, but I guess I could stop by and pick 'em up on my way over there, and I wouldn't have to worry about them getting wilty and gross," the guy- Frank, goddammit Gerard- says.  
  
"Yeah, totally. So, you wanna do that?" he asks.  
  
"Well... How much will it cost? I work next door at the tattoo shop, which you probably know, but, uh, it doesn't pay much," Frank inquires, scratching his head.  
  
"Hmm... About fifteen dollars. We're not that pricey, I guess," Gerard laughs.  
  
"Oh, thank god. Thank you. You're not god, but thanks. And if you are god, props for giving humans the idea of pizza," Frank laughs back.   
  
"Man, you figured me out. I gotta kill you now," Gerard smiles. He likes this dude. Fuck. "Oh, and nice ink. It's really well-done."  
  
"You got any?" Frank says, his cool face betrayed by the excitement tinging his voice.  
  
"Oh, no, I'm fff... freaking terrified of needles," he responds. He almost forgot he shouldn't curse in the shop. Whoops. "My little brother has some, though, and I've always loved art. I admire tattoos, but I'd never get one."  
  
"That's too bad. I think they'd look pretty ffffreaking rad, dude," Frank smiles, and Gerard melts in his dirty white Converse low-tops. He's gotta hide it. Conceal it, Gee.  
"I do, too, but, y'know," he mumbles.  
  
"It's been awesome talking to you, really, but I gotta go to work, so, later, I guess," Frank laughs- shit- and heads out the door with a wave. Gerard totally doesn't bang his head on the counter when Frank leaves.

 

  
Three days later, Gerard's wrapping a bouquet for a nice old woman named Marjorie when Frank walks in, donning a leather jacket with more buttons and badges and chains than are entirely necessary. He ties off the baby's breath and lilies with three ribbons, handing it to her with a warm smile.   
  
"How much, sweetie?" she asks, and god, does she remind Gerard of his grandmother, all sweet and wrinkly.  
  
"I don't know what you mean, ma'am. Have a nice day," he winks. Marjorie laughs before laying down a twenty and leaving with no more words. Frank approaches, that stupid, lip-ring-wearing, ever-present grin on his stupid, attractive face. Gerard's a little annoyed at Frank's cuteness, because honestly, who gave him the fucking right? It really, REALLY doesn't help that Frank's been really nice about smiling and waving to Gerard for the past three days, sticking his head in and laughing 'good morning!' with cheer. Ugh.  
"So, flowers," Frank begins, "and a good morning to mister Flower Shop."  
  
"Morning. Your bouquet's right here," Gerard nods, picking it up almost gracefully from the counter behind him. He turns and hands it to the smaller man.  
  
"Thanks, it's really nice," Frank says sincerely, looking it over. Gerard's chest does NOT swell up in pride, that's for sure.  
  
"No problem. I take a lotta time doing 'em, so it's nice to know they're appreciated," he smiles only a little shyly.  
  
"They are. And, also, I feel weird calling you 'Mr. Flower Shop,' and you don't wear a name tag, so can I have your name?" Frank asks.  
  
"Oh, yeah. I guess I don't wear one. I probably should. My name's Gerard," the named tells him, gesturing to himself.  
  
"Gerard. Suits you. Um... So, look, I totally don't mean to stereotype here, so please don't be offended, but you seem really nice and cool and everything, and I was kinda wondering if you wanted to, like, go on a date or something? I know a really cool tea house-type place where a lot of slam poets go, and it's kinda fun, so..." Frank trails off, looking at Gerard with wide eyes and a blush in his cheeks. He scratches his neck, right over that scorpion tattoo that Gerard might just kill a man to suck on. That's when Gerard realizes that _holy fuck Frank just asked me out what do I do whatdoIdo WHATDOIDO!?_  
  
"Uh, yeah, no, I'm not offended, I would love to," Gerard speeds, tripping over words. Frank's face lights right the fuck up.  
  
"Wait, really?" he asks hopefully.  
  
"Well, yeah. You're attractive and you'll give me street cred. You don't get a lot of that from working at a place called a Botanical Boutique," Gerard affirms. Frank snorts, and his watch beeps.  
  
"Shit, I gotta go, it's still my mom's birthday. But here," he rushes, scrawling out ten digits, "is my cell number, and you should call me so we can sort this whole date business."  
"Done and done," Gerard smiles, typing the number into his phone and definitely not adding a heart emoji next to Frank's name. He watches Frank leave, releasing a dreamy sigh as he sees the latter running across the parking lot, clutching the bouquet. He can't believe his luck; he got a date with Frank... Something. Of course he doesn't know Frank's last name. It's not really a standard conversation topic. For now, his last name will be heart emoji. Frank Heart Emoji. Future boyfriend of Gerard Way, Frank Heart Emoji. It's got a nice ring to it.


End file.
